Under the impulse of our generous President's speech at Atlanta, suggesting
that the government share in caring for the graves of Confederate dead, Mrs.
LaSalle Corbell Pickett, widow of Gen. Pickett, wrote this for the VETERAN:

Years ago a Southern woman placed flowers upon the graves of Northern
soldiers who had fallen in battle and been buried in sunny Southland. She did
this in memory of the mothers and wives and sisters far away who could never
kneel beside those sacred mounds and put tokens of fond remembrance over the
dead. As she strewed fragrant blossoms on the resting places of the brave men
who wore the blue she fancied that a sweet wind from the South might waft the
fragrance of their passing breath to distant Northern homes, to fall with
blessed comfort upon sorrowful hearts. In a more sacred sense, she trusted that
upon the Frave of her loved one who lay in Northern ground some tender hand
would drop a blossom, with a prayer for a Southern home left desolate. We know
that these far-distant ,,raves are not forgotten when the May roses make the
world glad, and we appreciate the kind hearts that do honor to our dead so far
from us.

A strange and wholly unexpected result of the President's generous attitude
is the movement to pension ex-Confederates-a suggestion that might be regarded
as savoring of sarcasm were it not for the grave character of those in whose
minds it has arisen. The Confederates are claiming no reward for their services
of long ago. They did their best and are proud of their record, but they do not
make application for pensions. It is true that the war tax imposes a heavy
weight upon the South, and that she bears that burden uncomplainingly. The money
which flows from Northern States into the pension fund returns to those States
and becomes a part of their circulating medium. Many millions go annually from
the treasury of the South and never return. She is not impoverished, because she
cannot be, but for every dollar that goes out for Northern pensions by so much
is she the poorer. Notwithstanding her heavy burdens, her progress in the past
quarter of a century is the marvel of economic history. She does not pause in
her onward march to reflect mournfully on what that progress might have been but
for those burdens. She looks bravely forward to the grand future which is hers.

The South cheerfully responds to the demands made upon her by the nation. In
addition to this tax, she supports her own disabled veterans and war widows and
orphans, with no help except that which sometimes comes from some generous purse
and loving heart whose heaven-born impulses are circumscribed by no lines of
politics or geography. Thus she works earnestly for the right, happy in the
present, hopeful of the future.

Capt. Connally T. Litchfield, commanding a company of Gen. J. E. B. Stuart's
Cavalry, was severely wounded at Brandy Station, Va., in October, 1864. The
pistol bullet entered the cheek just below the right eye. He was stunned, but
did not fall from his horse, which was led to the rear by a private. The
supposition was that he had fought his last battle for the Confederacy. The
field surgeon probed, but failed to locate the bullet. The palate was touched in
the search for it, which led to the belief that it had either been swallowed or
spit out. After events proved this to be a mistake.

Getting a furlough, Capt. Litchfield went to his home, Abingdon, Va., where
he remained until somewhat relieved. The war ended, but the wound was a painful
reminder of the part the Captain had taken in the struggle for Southern
independence. As the years came and went it became more and more troublesome.
Violent pain in the face and head, accompanied by suppuration and free discharge
of pus and water through the eye and nose led physicians to diagnose the case as
"chronic nasal catarrh," for which he was treated, but that gave only temporary
relief.

For years he suffered untold agony, and gradually lost the sight of the right
eye. The pain seemed to center at the base of the nose, between the eyes. In
course of time the suppuration was not so great. His affliction was then called
neuralgia. He was in the habit of taking a morphine tablet when the pain became
intolerable. This always nauseated him, and in July, 1897, during a violent fit
of vomiting caused by morphine, he felt something hard drop into his mouth, and
from the mouth it went into the pan. It proved to be the long-lost pistol
bullet, which for thirty-four years had been the enemy of his comfort. Marked
improvement in health followed this deliverance; but the right eye had become so
diseased that, in order to save the other, it was removed by a surgical
operation last summer. It has been well said that "Capt. Litchfield's experience
rivals in interest any of the recorded capricious battle wounds." Friends
decided that the interesting relic must be preserved as a souvenir of his
gallant services. His nephew, V. L. Cunningham, of Chicago, has had it mounted
in gold, to be worn as a watch charm by his uncle. It will be highly prized by
the relative who will fall heir to it.

The dedicatory exercises at the laying of the corner stone for the
Confederate Monument at Van Buren, Ark., were interesting and worthy to so mark
the final resting place of the unknown Confederate dead buried in the cemetery
there. It is a fitting offering from the loyal daughters of Arkansas; Texas,
Arkansas, Missouri, Louisiana, and the Indian Territory each having brave sons
buried there. Most of the dead interred there had enlisted under Ben. McCullough
and Sterling Price, and fell in the battles of Oak Hill and Elkhorn.

I was a member of the Third Texas Regiment, which did well its part on that
memorable day. Saturday, August 10, was a terribly hot day-not only hot from the
sun, but from Minnie balls, grape shot, and bombshells. The battle of Oak Hill
was one of the most complete victories for the Confederacy achieved during the
war. It opened at sunrise and continued about six hours. It was an open field
fight from beginning to end. The Confederate forces did not exceed nine thousand
men, and they were all recruits with very little discipline. The, were very
poorly armed, some having squirrel rifles and shotguns, while others had
Mississippi rifles and muskets. The enemy was largely composed of United States
regulars, who were armed with their most improved weapons.

Late in the afternoon of August 2 we encamped on the field destined to become
the scene of the battle of Oak Hill. Price's command was on the north side of
Wilson Creek, on the road leading to Springfield, Mo.; McCullough's troops on
and adjacent to Wilson Creek, about one and one-half miles down the creek, and
on the south side, about ten miles from Springfield. On the 9th orders were
issued to cook three days' rations and to be ready to march on notice. About
sunset the men were ordered to lie on their arms. Gen. Ben. McCullough commanded
the Confederate troops, and Gen. Lyon commanded the Federal troops, with
headquarters in Springfield. Each had the same plan of attack and resolved to
execute it at the same time, an extraordinary coincidence.

Lyon opened fire upon Price along his entire line. Siegall had fired upon
McCullough at the same time. The rattle of musketry and the roar of artillery
were deafening. About three hours after the battle had begun Gen. Siegall was
routed by the Confederates. Then McCullough hastened with his entire command to
the assistance of Gen. Price, who was hard pressed by his vigorous assailant.
Charge after charge the brave and determined Lyon made at the head of his
columns, and was killed within fifty or sixty steps of the Confederate lines.
The weather was so hot it was like lighting in a furnace. Soon after Lyon fell
the battle ceased. Before his death both lines were beginning to waver; but
after McCullough swung into line with Price, the battle was soon ended, Lyon's
men making a hasty retreat. They left their dying chieftain to the mercy of a
victorious but magnanimous enemy.

The Federal loss was severe, about four hundred killed and twice that number
wounded and taken prisoners while the Confederate loss did not exceed two
hundred and fifty.

Current Literature for September, 1898, contains the following very
interesting points concerning the life of Theodore O'Hara, author of "Bivouac of
the Dead:"

Theodore O'Hara, one of the few poets whose title to immortality rests on a
single poem, but on that account is none the less secure, was born in Danville,
Ky., February 11, 1820. The family subsequently lived in Frankfort. Theodore was
a very precocious child, and with him study was a passion. He studied at
Bardstown, in Kentucky, and there became noted as an accomplished scholar. He
afterwards studied law with John C. Breckinridge as a fellow-student. In 1845 he
held a position in the Treasury Department at Washington, but soon afterwards
joined the United States army, with the rank of captain. He served with
distinction through the Mexican war, and rose to the rank of major. He
afterwards practiced law in Washington until 1851, when he joined other
Kentuckians in assisting Lopez, who was trying to liberate Cuba. He was at one
time editor in chief of the Mobile Register, and at another editor of the
Louisville Times.

At the breaking out of the civil war he cast his fortunes with the South, and
was placed in command of the Twelfth Alabama Regiment. Later he served on the
staff of Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston, and was with him at Shiloh and caught the
great chief in his arms when the bullet had done its deadly work. He was
afterwards chief of staff to his lifelong friend, Gen. John C. Breckinridge. He
died on a plantation in Alabama in 1867, and was buried at Columbus, Ga. In 1874
his remains, together with those of Gens. Greenup and Madison, and several
distinguished officers of the Mexican war, were reinterred in the State cemetery
at Frankfort, Ky.

Just after the adoption of the ordinance of secession by the State of
Georgia, January 19, 1861, the Troup Artillery, for several years previous a
volunteer company of Athens, Ga, tendered its services to Joseph E. Brown,
then Governor of Georgia. The company was at once placed under preparatory
orders, and upon the fall of Fort Sumter, April 14, 1861, was ordered by Gov.
Brown to hold itself in readiness to march upon a day's notice. In a few days
thereafter the company received orders direct from the Confederate Secretary of
War to proceed at once to Pensacola, Fla. Gov. Brown, being apprised of this,
and being jealous of his command, countermanded the order, and on April 20,
1861, ordered the company to proceed at once to Savannah, GA., and await further
orders.

A writer in the Athens (Ga.) Banner says:

Assembling early the next morning around the old flag pole which stood on the
hill near the Baptist church, and where now stands the Confederate Monument, the
company was marshaled and with its two pieces of artillery, marched to the
Georgia railroad depot and took the train for Savannah.

Such a scene was never before witnessed in the town of Athens. Gathered upon
the parade ground of the company along the streets leading to the depot and at
the depot of the Georgia road were thousands and thousands of people, having
come from all the surrounding country to witness the departure for the war of
the first company that left this section.

Among the thousands at the depot were fathers and mothers, husbands and
wives, brothers and sisters, sweethearts and beaus, masters and servants, all to
say good-by to "the bold soger boys" that were off for the war. With such a
multitude and with such farewells as brought tears from the stoutest-hearted
soldiers the scene beggars further description, and here we let the curtain
fall.

The Troup Artillery rendezvoused at Savannah, and was there regularly
mustered into the Confederate service and furnished with a full battery of six
guns. Remaining there until July 4, 1861, the company was ordered to Richmond,
Va., and so was ready for engaging in the first battle of Manassas. The
quartermaster's department at Richmond failing to supply the necessary equipage,
horses, etc., in time for the company to reach Manassas, it was then ordered to
report to Gen. Robert E. Lee, who ordered the company to proceed at once to
Huntersville, W. Va.

Arriving there after some three day's hard marching, the company became an
active factor in the Northwest Virginia campaign under command of Gen. Robert E.
Lee. This was the roughest and most trying campaign of the entire war, and soon
acquainted the men with the hardships. the privations, and perils of war.

Campaigning in that country until early in the month of October, and when
Gen. Rosecrans' army had been driven back across the Gauley River and into Ohio,
the company was ordered to Yorktown, Va., and became from that time until the
surrender at Appomattox an active and component part of the .\rmv of Northern
Virginia. engaging in all of the principal battles fought by it, the grandest
army of men that ever battled for cause and country.

At the battle of Gettysburg, on the second day of the fight, the artillery
was in iine with the other companies of Cabell's Battalion, opening the fight at
about half-past two in the afternoon. Soon after the fight commenced I was
wounded, being shot through the lower jaw and throat by a shrapnel.

Our battery was immediately in front of the peach orchard, and in front of us
was Sickles' Corps. We advanced a considerable distance that afternoon. The next
day we fell back with Lee's army, having lost several in killed and wounded.
Last year I visited the battlefield of Gettysburg for the first time since the
fight. My wife and daughter accompanied me. I went to the place where our
battery was in the fight, and where I was so severely wounded. What memories
came trooping through my mind! I pointed out to my loved ones the different
positions we occupied, to which they listened with thrilling interest. There
were many changes in these long years, but I readily recognized the different
places. I wish every soldier now living who was there then could return and
visit that memorable battlefield. My visit there was one of the most interesting
and pleasant of my life. Many of those who were brave participants in that awful
struggle have "passed over the river." I could fancy they were present and were
enjoYing with me the scenes and events of the past.

The government is doing a great work in laying out avenues and marking the
different places occupied by both sides.

At the close of the war, when Gen. Lee surrendered at Appomattox, our battery
was near Lynchburg. We buried our guns to keep them from falling into the hands
of the enemy. I presume they are there buried to this day. Not long ago I was
passing through Lynchburg and on the train was Gen. Webb, President of the New
York College, and New York Commissioner for Gettysburg and Chickamauga
battlefields. I related to him the story of burying the guns and pointed out the
direction where they were. He seemed to be very much interested, and not long
afterwards I received a letter from him telling me to go and unearth those guns
and carry them to Gettysburg and put them in the position they were in during
the fight, and that he would pay all expenses, which was very liberal on his
part. Lieut. C. W. Motes, of this city, and myself have the matter under
advisement, and we intend to carry out the instructions of Gen. Webb. There is
no more prominent place on the field of Gettysburg than the position the Troup
Artillery occupied in that fight, marked on Coulederate Avenue.

Some of the bravest men I ever saw were in this company. It is due to state
that there was no more valiant soldier than Capt. H. H. Carlton, commander of
the battery, who is living to-day in Athens, Ga., loved and respected by all who
know him. He has two beautiful daughters, twins. One was the Georgia sponsor at
Charleston, and the other her maid of honor. First Lieut. C. W. Motes lives in
Atlanta, and is a worthy and popular citizen. It was at Bloody Bend, near
Spottsylvania, that a most amusing and at the same time a most intrepid act was
credited to the record of Lieut. Motes.

The Confederate forces were behind a small breastwork, and the Federal forces
were preparing for the charge. The Troup Artillery was stationed near a
blackjack swamp, and a little farther down the line Maxey's Texas Brigade had
been stationed.

Suddenly the Federals charged the Texas brigade. The fight was furious; the
brave Texans drove back the enemy time and time again. During one of these
charges Gen. Maxey for some reason had gone to the rear for a few moments, and
when the blue and gray columns met the Texans wavered and fell back, and the
Yankees swarmed over the breastworks and into the trenches.

Just as this happened a few members of the Troup Artillery were sitting
around a little fire, frying a piece of fat bacon. The grease was sputtering in
the frying pan and the soldiers were smacking their mouths in anticipation of
the rich repast in store (?) for them. Among the number was Lieut. Motes.

As the Yankees came over the breastworks the gun of the Troup Artillery
nearest to them was wheeled around, and in a few moments the line of blue
soldiers was being swept by a galling fire.

Lieut. Motes sprang up and dashed down to where the Texans were fighting,
carrying with him the frying pan of hot grease. As he reached the scene of
combat he put himself in front of the Texas Brigade, and, waving the frying pan
over his head, led the charge, and the Yankees were soon driven back.

Gen. Maxey returned about that time and congratulated Lieut. Motes on his
brave.y. Motes's appearance just then should be noted. The grease was all over
his face and clothes, and, being hot, had blistered the skin wherever it
touched. He still had hold of the old frying pan, which had served him well in
the charge.

Rev. Charles Oliver, who now resides in Atlanta, was another member of this
celebrated company. Napoleon never had a braver soldier in his army than Oliver.
I have seen him enjoy a ba~tle as one would a football game. His black eyes
would sparkle with delight, while a bright smile would play upon his face in
real enjoyment of shot and shell and the flashing of the guns.

The next morning after the second day's fighting at Gettysburg Oliver showed
up with three Yankee horses and other things that he had captured in the enemy's
lines during the night.

Another member who lives in Atlanta also, Dick Saye, a carpenter, deserves
mention here. At the battle of Fredericksburg a shell fell behind the
breastworks where our battery was. The fuse of the shell was sputtering and
burning. All fell to the ground to escape the explosion, but Dick Saye ran to it
and, bravely picking up the dangerous shell, threw it over the breastworks,
where it immediately exploded without doing any harm. If this had been done by a
Federal soldier, he would have received a medal of honor, which is given only
for distinguished acts of bravery.

Another heroic member of the Troup Artillery, Bill Mealer, lives in Atlanta.
At Dam No. 1, near Yorktown, a cannon ball struck Bill on the leg below the
knee. The lower part was held on by a small piece of the skin. Bill coolly took
out his pocketknife and cut the skin in two and threw the foot and ankle away,
saying: "Damn you, you never was any account, anyhow." Bill afterwards served in
the cavalry, although having but one good leg. That was pluck for you.

I could go on and fill up pages with the brave deeds of the gallant members
of this celebrated company.

If you visit the battlefield of Gettysburg, you will not fail to see the
prominent position occupied by the Troup Artillery, as indicated by the tablets
thereupon erected.

Just after the adoption of the ordinance of secession by the State of
Georgia, January 19, 1861, the Troup Artillery, for several years previous a
volunteer company of Athens, Ga, tendered its services to Joseph E. Brown, then
Governor of Georgia. The company was at once placed under preparatory orders,
and upon the fall of Fort Sumter, April 14, 1861, was ordered by Gov. Brown to
hold itself in readiness to march upon a day's notice. In a few days thereafter
the company received orders direct from the Confederate Secretary of War to
proceed at once to Pensacola, Fla. Gov. Brown, being apprised of this, and being
jealous of his command, countermanded the order, and on April 20, 1861, ordered
the company to proceed at once to Savannah, Ga, and await further orders.

A writer in the Athens (Ga.) Banner says:

Assembling early the next morning around the old flag pole which stood on the
hill near the Baptist church, and where now stands the Confederate Monument, the
company was marshaled and with its two pieces of artillery, marched to the
Georgia railroad depot and took the train for Savannah.

Such a scene was never before witnessed in the town of Athens. Gathered upon
the parade ground of the company along the streets leading to the depot and at
the depot of the Georgia road were thousands and thousands of people, having
come from all the surrounding country to witness the departure for the war of
the first company that left this section.

Among the thousands at the depot were fathers and mothers, husbands and
wives, brothers and sisters, sweethearts and beaus, masters and servants, all to
say good-by to "the bold soger boys" that were off for the war. With such a
multitude and with such farewells as brought tears from the stoutest-hearted
soldiers the scene beggars further description, and here we let the curtain
fall.

The Troup Artillery rendezvoused at Savannah, and was there regularly
mustered into the Confederate service and furnished with a full battery of six
guns. Remaining there until July 4, 1861, the company was ordered to Richmond,
Va., and so was ready for engaging in the first battle of Manassas. The
quartermaster's department at Richmond failing to supply the necessary equipage,
horses, etc., in time for the company to reach Manassas, it was then ordered to
report to Gen. Robert E. Lee, who ordered the company to proceed at once to
Huntersville, W. Va.

Arriving there after some three day's hard marching, the company became an
active factor in the Northwest Virginia campaign under command of Gen. Robert E.
Lee. This was the roughest and most trying campaign of the entire war, and soon
acquainted the men with the hardships. the privations, and perils of war.

Campaigning in that country until early in the month of October, and when
Gen. Rosecrans' army had been driven back across the Gauley River and into Ohio,
the company was ordered to Yorktown, Va., and became from that time until the
surrender at Appomattox an active and component part of the .\rmv of Northern
Virginia. engaging in all of the principal battles fought by it, the grandest
army of men that ever battled for cause and country.

At the battle of Gettysburg, on the second day of the fight, the artillery
was in iine with the other companies of Cabell's Battalion, opening the fight at
about half-past two in the afternoon. Soon after the fight commenced I was
wounded, being shot through the lower jaw and throat by a shrapnel.

Our battery was immediately in front of the peach orchard, and in front of us
was Sickles' Corps. We advanced a considerable distance that afternoon. The next
day we fell back with Lee's army, having lost several in killed and wounded.
Last year I visited the battlefield of Gettysburg for the first time since the
fight. My wife and daughter accompanied me. I went to the place where our
battery was in the fight, and where I was so severely wounded. What memories
came trooping through my mind! I pointed out to my loved ones the different
positions we occupied, to which they listened with thrilling interest. There
were many changes in these long years, but I readily recognized the different
places. I wish every soldier now living who was there then could return and
visit that memorable battlefield. My visit there was one of the most interesting
and pleasant of my life. Many of those who were brave participants in that awful
struggle have "passed over the river." I could fancy they were present and were
enjoYing with me the scenes and events of the past.

The government is doing a great work in laying out avenues and marking the
different places occupied by both sides.

At the close of the war, when Gen. Lee surrendered at Appomattox, our battery
was near Lynchburg. We buried our guns to keep them from falling into the hands
of the enemy. I presume they are there buried to this day. Not long ago I was
passing through Lynchburg and on the train was Gen. Webb, President of the New
York College, and New York Commissioner for Gettysburg and Chickamauga
battlefields. I related to him the story of burying the guns and pointed out the
direction where they were. He seemed to be very much interested, and not long
afterwards I received a letter from him telling me to go and unearth those guns
and carry them to Gettysburg and put them in the position they were in during
the fight, and that he would pay all expenses, which was very liberal on his
part. Lieut. C. W. Motes, of this city, and myself have the matter under
advisement, and we intend to carry out the instructions of Gen. Webb. There is
no more prominent place on the field of Gettysburg than the position the Troup
Artillery occupied in that fight, marked on Coulederate Avenue.

Some of the bravest men I ever saw were in this company. It is due to state
that there was no more valiant soldier than Capt. H. H. Carlton, commander of
the battery, who is living to-day in Athens, Ga., loved and respected by all who
know him. He has two beautiful daughters, twins. One was the Georgia sponsor at
Charleston, and the other her maid of honor. First Lieut. C. W. Motes lives in
Atlanta, and is a worthy and popular citizen. It was at Bloody Bend, near
Spottsylvania, that a most amusing and at the same time a most intrepid act was
credited to the record of Lieut. Motes.

The Confederate forces were behind a small breastwork, and the Federal forces
were preparing for the charge. The Troup Artillery was stationed near a
blackjack swamp, and a little farther down the line Maxey's Texas Brigade had
been stationed.

Suddenly the Federals charged the Texas brigade. The fight was furious; the
brave Texans drove back the enemy time and time again. During one of these
charges Gen. Maxey for some reason had gone to the rear for a few moments, and
when the blue and gray columns met the Texans wavered and fell back, and the
Yankees swarmed over the breastworks and into the trenches.

Just as this happened a few members of the Troup Artillery were sitting
around a little fire, frying a piece of fat bacon. The grease was sputtering in
the frying pan and the soldiers were smacking their mouths in anticipation of
the rich repast in store (?) for them. Among the number was Lieut. Motes.

As the Yankees came over the breastworks the gun of the Troup Artillery
nearest to them was wheeled around, and in a few moments the line of blue
soldiers was being swept by a galling fire.

Lieut. Motes sprang up and dashed down to where the Texans were fighting,
carrying with him the frying pan of hot grease. As he reached the scene of
combat he put himself in front of the Texas Brigade, and, waving the frying pan
over his head, led the charge, and the Yankees were soon driven back.

Gen. Maxey returned about that time and congratulated Lieut. Motes on his
brave.y. Motes's appearance just then should be noted. The grease was all over
his face and clothes, and, being hot, had blistered the skin wherever it
touched. He still had hold of the old frying pan, which had served him well in
the charge.

Rev. Charles Oliver, who now resides in Atlanta, was another member of this
celebrated company. Napoleon never had a braver soldier in his army than Oliver.
I have seen him enjoy a ba~tle as one would a football game. His black eyes
would sparkle with delight, while a bright smile would play upon his face in
real enjoyment of shot and shell and the flashing of the guns.

The next morning after the second day's fighting at Gettysburg Oliver showed
up with three Yankee horses and other things that he had captured in the enemy's
lines during the night.

Another member who lives in Atlanta also, Dick Saye, a carpenter, deserves
mention here. At the battle of Fredericksburg a shell fell behind the
breastworks where our battery was. The fuse of the shell was sputtering and
burning. All fell to the ground to escape the explosion, but Dick Saye ran to it
and, bravely picking up the dangerous shell, threw it over the breastworks,
where it immediately exploded without doing any harm. If this had been done by a
Federal soldier, he would have received a medal of honor, which is given only
for distinguished acts of bravery.

Another heroic member of the Troup Artillery, Bill Mealer, lives in Atlanta.
At Dam No. 1, near Yorktown, a cannon ball struck Bill on the leg below the
knee. The lower part was held on by a small piece of the skin. Bill coolly took
out his pocketknife and cut the skin in two and threw the foot and ankle away,
saying: "Damn you, you never was any account, anyhow." Bill afterwards served in
the cavalry, although having but one good leg. That was pluck for you.

I could go on and fill up pages with the brave deeds of the gallant members
of this celebrated company.

If you visit the battlefield of Gettysburg, you will not fail to see the
prominent position occupied by the Troup Artillery, as indicated by the tablets
thereupon erected.

John Burke was born in Philadelphia in 1830, and at an early age was bereft
of his parents and cast adrift to seek his fortune in his own way. At the age of
eleven he made his way to New York City, where he mingled with the busy hum of
men on the wharfs, in the streets, and around business offices, thus laying the
corner stone, by these multiplied environments, of a resourceful character which
fitted him as a child of destiny for a brilliant career. Possessing an
exceptionally bright mind, he forged ahead of his fellows in "rustling up jobs."
He was among the first of those who inaugurated the sensational feat of jumping
off high bridges and casting himself headlong into the water. This he did with
that dare-devil spirit of the Celt, for, as his name indicates, he is descended
from the martyr, Robert Emmet, and the most eloquent of British statesmen,
Edmund Burke, for whom he named a son.

He was both scout and spy. There is a difference between the two which I have
never seen clearly defined. Literally, a scout means to hear and a spy means to
see, and when Gen. Thomas Rosser says "he was the eyes and ears of Lee's army,"
we can appreciate the literal truth of this compliment to our hero. A scout is
supposed to vibrate the lines of the contending forces and to learn, by hearing
from others, the movements, strength, and force of the enemy. If taken in
battle, he is treated as a regular prisoner of war. A spy is one who enters the
lines of the enemy in disguise and spies out the land, and if captured, death by
the most ignominious means is meted out to him; not because he is any worse than
others, but because he is considered more dangerous.

John Burke followed the shoemaker's trade by day and studied law at night, by
the dim light of a pine knot or tallow candle, until finally he was admitted to
the bar, and associated himself with his brother-in-law, Pendleton Murrah,
afterwards Governor of the State. He took rank at once as a criminal lawyer
along with such men as Jennings, Ochiltree, Henderson, Culberson, and Clough.

At the first tap of the Confederate drum Burke enlisted at Marshall, and
entered Wigfall's Regiment as a private in the company of Capt. Bass, who was
afterwards colonel of the regiment. Early in the spring of 1861, before the
battle of First Manassas, they were sent to the front in Virginia, and the
regiment was always known as the First Texas of Hood's celebrated brigade.
Burke's genius as a scout and spy developed itself at once on detached service
in front of Washington, and by prompt and accurate reports of the strength and
movements of McDowell's forces he aided Beauregard and Johnston in the first
great victory at Manassas. He remained nominally with his company until the
spring of 1862, and permanently left them at Yorktown to aid the several leaders
of the Army of Northern Virginia in the capacity of scout and spy. He was with
Jackson in his famous valley campaign that spring, and with Joe Johnston in
locating his line around Richmond in his retreat from Yorktown, and with
Johnston when he was wounded at Seven Pines.

He was Lee's most trusted scout. He had the honor of riding as scout and
guide with Jeb Stuart around McClellan in front of Richmond, just before the
seven days' battle.

In June, 1864, he accepted the position of adjutant general of Texas on Gov.
Murrah's staff, and bade farewell to the Army of Northern Virginia.

During Col. Burke's expeditions as scout and spy he often went into the
enemy's country in various disguises-at one time a truck farmer, at another a
gentleman of leisure lounging around the capitol at Washington, invading the
departments and gathering all sorts of valuable information. Fortunately he
excelled as a mimic, and visiting in quick succession New York, Washington, and
Philadelphia, going over the scenes of his old boyhood haunts, he was able to
pick up army news from most reliable sources. By some means he possessed himself
of a Federal major's commission of artillery and uniform, and this garb seemed
best suited to his tastes. On one of these adventures he was captured in
Philadelphia, heavily ironed and handcuffed, and was being conveyed by rail,
under strong guard, to Washington, where death by hanging, after a drumhead
court-martial, seemed to await him. As they were passing over a high trestle,
the rumbling of the train indicated to him his position; and, remembering the
many times he had jumped from High Bridge, in New York, he jumped overboard. It
was night, and darkness threw a friendly veil over him. The trail rumbled on,
and the guards made sure that, manacled as he was, he had saved them the job of
a formal trial, and had gone in advance to his doom. But again he escaped, and
in a few days was at Lee's headquarters, near Richmond. Again while scouting he
drifted into the enemy's lines and was discovered and so hotly pursued that he
abandoned his horse and ran into a thicket, and thence into a barn, which.
happened to be empty-so empty that there was no place to hide. But he drew
himself on to the crossbeams overhead, and breathlessly watched his pursuers
search every nook and corner and then go away leaving him undisturbed.

Once he was riding a beautiful thoroughbred mare, captured by him a few days
before, and was scouting in a lane bordered by high stone fences. Suddenly he
discovered that the enemy were closing in before and behind him, and his only
hope lay in a fearful leap, which he made. A shower of shot killed his horse and
wounded him seriously. Reaching the house of a friend, his disguise was pierced
by a servant girl, who disclosed his identity to the Federals. When they came in
quest of Lee's famous spy he ran into the room of the beautiful daughter of his
host, saying: "I am Burke; hide me, or I shall be killed!" The girl hastily
turned down her feather bed, and he ensconced himself safely between it and the
mattress. So once more he escaped detection. One of the most amusing of his
escapades was when he ran into the house of a friend with the enemy close at his
heels. His only refuge was in the wide-spreading hoopskirt of his hostess, which
proved a safe retreat. It is said that Col Burke killed twenty adversaries
during his service for the Confederacy. In 1897, after Gen. Rosser had lectured
in Fort Worth, Howard W. Peak, son-in law of Col. Peak, wrote him a letter in
regard to the reference in his lecture of Col. Burke's having "saved Lee's
army."

He joined Gov. Murrah as his adjutant general at Austin, Texas in 1864, and
served on his staff during the remainder of the war. Gov. Murrah went to Mexico
on account of ill health, and here Col Burke remained with his old friend, the
Governor, who had been so kind to him in his young days.

Returning to Texas, he resumed the practice of his profession at Marshall at
the close of the war, and in 1865 married Miss Jennie Taylor. Col. Burke died at
Jefferson, Tex., in 1872. His widow, now Mrs. F. M. Burrows, and two sons, John
and Edmund Burke, and daughter, Alice, Mrs. Howard W. Peak, survive him and are
residents of Fort Worth.

The address of Capt. William Rule, of Knoxville, Tenn., at the decoration of
Federal graves near Nashville May 30 does him high credit. Capt. Rule served the
cause of the Union in the great war, and has affiliated with the dominant party
since. He was a true soldier, however, and in his integrity he now says in
paying tribute to the memory of his dead comrades:

It had to come, and be it far from me at this day to step aside and lay the
whole blame for it at the door of either party. It will do no good; it was
inevitable. It is in the past, and we of to-day can well afford to turn our
backs upon it, leaving it to the individual to work out his own conclusions in
his own way to his own satisfaction, learning from it such lessons as may
satisfy his own conscience.

The end came, and with it immortality for the name "Appomattox." There it was
that the two great leaders of the opposing armies met to talk over terms under
which the weaker could lay down arms but not honor; could furl the flag of the
cause for which they had fought and failed. The great and magnanimous Grant was
in solemn conference with the famous commander of the remnant of a great army of
valorous American soldiers-Robert E. Lee, the able, pure, upright, chivalrous
general who was too brave to prolong hostilities for his own fame when it
involved a hopeless and useless sacrifice of human life. He and his ragged and
hungry men may have for the moment felt the humiliation of capitulation, in
which feeling they had the profoundest sympathy of the victorious chief to whom
they had capitulated; but they had the proud satisfaction of knowing that so
long as history is printed and read no man will ever dare to stand up and say
that they had not defended their cause with as much valor and at as great cost
as any similar number of soldiers ever did who were ever marshaled in any nation
of the earth.

I shall not argue about which was right. In one sense both were right-both
were honest. If it be true that actions speak louder than words, then it is not
for me to say that the Confederate soldiers who fought so valiantly on so many
bloody fields and endured so much suffering for four long years with so much
fortitude were not sincere.

Comrade Rule pays high tribute to the South in the recent war with Spain, and
he told this story:

A few weeks ago two fathers stood before two open graves in the national
cemetery in Knoxville, into which were tenderly lowered two caskets, containing
the remains of two Tennessee boys. One of these fathers was a soldier in the
Union army, and he is an officer of high rank in the army now; one of the
caskets held the remains of his son, who fell while leading his men up the
heights of San Juan hill. The other father was once an officer in the
Confederate service: the boy in the other casket was his son and that son too
fell leading his men up San Juan hill. Both were lieutenants in the regular
army; both were Tennessee boys, who attended the same Tennessee university, and
each had poured out his life's blood following, the same flag on the same
battlefield. and now the fathers-one who wore the blue, the other who wore the
gray- mingled their tears over the biers of their precious boys who had
sacrificed their young lives on the same altar of patriotism in defense of the
same flag and the same country. Ah! tell me not, in the presence of such a scene
as that, that Americans are not Americans, even though they may have radically
differed in the past!

The Union veteran sees in the splendid valor of the Confederate soldier a
legacy to the nation in which he has a share. The Confederate veteran, and they
of his household, know that whatever good has accrued from the final results of
that stupendous struggle he and his have it in an equal allotment.

The preservation of the union of American States, it is now universally
conceded, is a national benediction, and few are left who would deprive the men
who wore the gray of its choicest blessings, had they it within their power. The
buoyant strains of "Dixie" revive lustrous recollections of heroic days, and all
may join in cordial acclamation, all may stand in reverential awe with bowed and
uncovered head while hearkening to the soul-stirring melody of the
"Star-Spangled Banner." The time is at hand when we are indeed and in truth one
people, with a common interest, a common ambition, a common purpose, a common
destiny.

The casualties of war are properly designated "fatalities." That word builder
builded wiser than he knew, since few men can long participate with ordinary
observation and intelligence in the thrilling events of war without becoming
more or less fatalists, whether they admit it or not. The writer was promoted
first lieutenant and detailed by Gen. Sidney Johnston at Bowling Green from the
ranks of the Twenty-Second Mississippi Infantry to drill the Thirty-First
Alabama (afterwards the Forty-Ninth) Regiment, two regiments from
that State having been assigned the same number (the Thirty-First), and
consented to surrender or hold the designated number by lot. Within two weeks
Fort Donelson fell, and I kept with the Forty-Ninth on the way South. I was
appointed adjutant of the regiment and afterwards adjutant general of the
brigade (Gen. Thomas M. Scott's), and participated in the two days' battle at
Shiloh and in every other battle fought under Bragg, Joe Johnston, and Hood save
when at home on wounded furloughs.

But to return to the appointments of Fate. One day while our army occupied
the parallel lines of breastworks against Gen. Sherman at New Hope Church in the
summer of 1864, Dr. H. V. Weeden, of Alabama, assistant brigade surgeon,
said: "M., get your horse and ride with me to the rear. I want to show you
something." We rode back about a mile, to where our wagons were parked on a
small spring branch. Pausing near an immense white oak tree, Dr. Weeden
remarked: "See that poor fellow lying there? He was killed during the night. Two
or three days ago he said to his company commander: 'Look here, captain, unless
you detail me to drive a wagon or do other less hazardous work, I intend to
desert. I feel somehow, but can't explain it, that I shall never see my wife and
baby again unless I keep out of harm's way.' The captain remonstrated with
him-tried joke and importunity, but to no purpose. 'John, you have ranked for
nearly four years as the bravest man in our regiment; have led several forlorn
hopes, and were the envy of the bravest. I cannot believe you will show the
white feather now.' 'White feather or black,' retorted the soldier, with eyes
full of mist and a sad, far-away expression, 'you must send me to the rear this
day, or I shall desert to-night.' The captain, knowing what manner of man his
favorite soldier was, sent him to the wagon train. Last night," continued Dr.
Weeden, "the poor fellow took shelter, as you see, (for his body has not been
moved) behind this tree- his head flush against it and his feet pointed straight
away, as he thought, from any possible stray shot. During the night, however,
his head got turned slightly away from shelter while he slept. It cannot be less
than two thousand yards to Sherman's line. Some Union soldier, perhaps to
reload, threw up his musket and sent a wild curving shot in this direction.
Though it had nearly spent its force, it came down at an angle of about
forty-five degrees, and landed as squarely in the poor fellow's eye as if it had
been placed there with one's fingers. Does it not indeed seem that what is to be
will be ?"

It certainly did, and still does.

Capt. Ed Hieronymus, now Inspector of Weights and Measures in the New
Orleans (La.) Custom House -where he has been, except during a short interval,
for six or seven years, because his efficiency defies the vicissitudes of party
change-was one of Gen. John H. Morgan's boy captains from Kentucky during
the great war (as you so pertinently designated the bloody years from 1861 to
1865.) Cheering on his men in one of the many battles Morgan fought in Tennessee
and Kentucky, young Hieronymus was struck in the left side by the fragment of a
shell, which resulted in the loss of three ribs. He wears a wire screen over the
wound as protection from sudden impact. The second night after the battle he
occupied a room with another Confederate soldier who had what was thought to be,
and was, a slight wound in the foot. Capt. Hieronymus time and again kindly
implored him to bear his sufferings less noisily, so that each of them might
perhaps get an hour of refreshing sleep. But in vain. The slightly wounded man
kept it up al} night, and died inside of twenty-four hours. Capt. Hieronymus,
the "mortally w-ounded" young officer' is alive yet. It is hard to say, but
surely the element of pluck must enter largely in contributing to such
recoveries, and fate does the rest.

I knew two or three soldiers who died without a symptom of illness or a
scratch anywhere on the body. The surgeons pronounced it nostalgia. Hundreds
died of it on both sides of the line.

I read in the VETERAN the story of Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston's death at
Shiloh with mingled emotions of pity and regret at the lack of common sense and
presence of mind that would have saved to his country that valuable life. I
refer to Col. Baylor's article. He was an aide on Gen. Johnston's staff
at the time. The details are, in short, that Gen. Johnston received a very small
wound just below the knee which he thought insignificant, as indeed it was, but
an artery was cut. After a time he began to reel in his saddle, and was assisted
to dismount by his friend and aid, Gov. Isham G. Harris. Lieuts. Baylor,
O'Hara, and others hurried in search of a surgeon and ambulance. They were
gone for a long time. Meantime Gen. Johnston had been removed to the rear,
bleeding all the way. Lieut. Baylor returned and received into his lap, to
relieve Gen. Preston, the head of the great soldier. "I looked down and saw,"
says the Lieutenant, "a stream of blood issuing from the wound. It had trickled
away and settled in a dark pool six or eight feet off." What a long, long time
the great, strong hero was dying! And, alas! the pity of it. If some one of the
group had simply pressed his thumb firmly on the artery two or three inches
above the wound, until some one could have tied a hard knot in a handkerchief
and with a small stick twisted it, the knot above the wound, into an improvised
tourniquet, Gen. Johnston would have been able to sit erect till the surgeon
came. Really, there was no absolute need of a surgeon. At every little military
school in the country (even in some of the common schools) students are taught
in ten minutes how to stanch the flow of either venous or arterial blood. But it
ought to need no schooling of any sort. Gen. Johnston's staff must have been
completely overcome and rendered helpless in the presence of the sad and
startling catastrophe. A nose bleed is more difficult to suppress. The great
general ought not to have died. If he had lived-but alas! herein again comes the
inevitable "fatality."

Our brigade was lying flat on the ground awaiting the order to rise and
charge the Federals, who were cannonading, shelling, and sharp shooting us from
their breastworks at Corinth October 3, 1862. Turning his head slightly, Sam
K. looked up and remarked: "Better lie down, Adjutant. These balls are
coming awful thick." "That doesn't matter," I started to reply. "No one can die
till his time comes, and"- but before the sentence was completed a Minie ball
struck the soldier square in top of the head, killing him instantly. If he had
only been standing up!

To be killed and wounded, or rather to escape either casualty, is no sign of
bravery or the reverse. I have known "dodgers" to be killed behind trees or as
they ran away, and some of the bravest always in the front, who came through
scores of battles without a scratch.

Col. Baylor says that after Gen. Johnston's death Gen. Beauregard called off
our victorious troops at sundown. I was there, and the sun was an hour and a
half high. In July, 1864, while Hood was in Atlanta, I met Gov. I. G. Harris
for the first time, as he was discussing Gen. Beauregard's report of the
battle, in which he said: "Night stopped the pursuit." I asked Gov. Harris if
the report was correct. "No, sir," replied he, in his earnest, emphatic way.
"When I rode back to report to Gen. Beauregard I found the latter in an
ambulance near the church. The sun was two hours high. I reported that our
troops had somehow been ordered to stop and stack arms, but thought it must be a
mistake. 'No,' said Gen. Beauregard, 'I sent the order. We will gather up the
fruits of the victory to-morrow. John Morgan is over east of the river.
He will keep Buell back.' As if a few hundred cavalrymen could hold back twenty
thousand infantry! I protested, but in vain. I told Gen. Beauregard he would
regret the loss of those two hours as long as he lived. He only smiled."

In Washington, D. C., fifteen years after the above conversation, in 1879, I
wrote up the interview for the Courier-Journal. Showing it to Gov. (then
Senator) Harris, he said I had reproduced it almost word for word, and that he
thought my memory most remarkable.

In the April VETERAN I read with pleasure "Last Shot Fired at Battle of
Nashville," which brought to my memory something not hitherto published.

About 11 A.M. of that day the Louisiana Brigade was in position, our right
resting on the Franklin pike. A brigade of Negro troops made an assault on our
line, but were soon badly demoralized by our fire. I sent out a detail of three
men to capture the colors (we had no use for prisoners), and they returned with
a handsome flag, on which was inscribed: "Presented by the Colored Ladies of
Murfreesboro, Tenn." I gave it to the color bearer, and when Lieut. Gen. S. D.
Lee came along he remarked on the handsome flag. He asked me to give three
cheers, so it would go down the line and encourage the troops on our left wing.
While standing with Gen. Lee a ball went through the rim of my hat. Again while
looking for sharpshooters a ball passed through my hat, coming out at the crown,
and the third shot tore a V-shaped hole in the shoulder of my overcoat. About
three in the afternoon of that day I saw our men on the left giving way and the
enemy sweeping up our line. Gen. Gibson ordered me to keep the trenches until we
had orders to retreat. As I left the trench I met Gen. Edward Johnson running
rapidly. He told me he was just from prison, and was too tired to go farther.
Soon afterwards he was again a prisoner. With my color bearer I made for the
pike, where our horses were. The enemy had some guns, and swept lanes in which
were the retreating Confederates. About dark Gibson's Louisiana Brigade formed
the rear guard to protect our badly demoralized army.

I quote from Gen. Lee's report of that evening: "At Nashville when Hood was
defeated Gibson's Brigade was conspicuously posted on the left of the pike near
Overton Hill, and I witnessed their driving back with the rest of Clayton's
Division two formidable assaults of the enemy. I recollect near dark riding up
to a brigade near a battery and trying to seize a stand of colors and lead the
brigade against the enemy. The color bearer refused, and was sustained by his
regiment. I found it was the color bearer of the Thirteenth Louisiana Volunteers
and Gibson's Louisiana Brigade. Gibson soon appeared at my side, and in
admiration of such conduct I exclaimed: "Gibson, these are the best men I ever
saw. You take them and check the enemy." Gibson did take them, and did check the
enemy.

Hood, in his "Advance and Retreat" gives to Gen. Gibson and his command the
credit of staying the disorder in the army and stopping the panic. He says:
"Gen. Gibson with the Louisiana troops succeeded in checking and staying the
first and most dangerous shock which always follows immediately after a rout."
Gibson's Brigade and Fenner's Battery acted as rear guard to the rear guard (old
soldiers will appreciate the meaning of those words), and continued as rear
guard until relieved by Gen. Ross and hits cavalry.

When we reached Franklin the Louisiana Brigade formed line from pike to
railroad and kept the enemy in check until all of our wounded and ammunition
train safely crossed the Harpeth River, then the brigade turned in good order
and formed line on the outskirts of Franklin, our right resting on the pike.
Here it was Gen. Lee was wounded in the foot. After this the enemy became more
cautious, and our army crossed the Tennessee River and went to Tupelo, Miss.

William E. Curtis, in special correspondence to the Chicago Record, gives
some interesting facts in connection with the attitude of Pope Pius IX. toward
the Southern Confederacy. While the pontiff never formally recognized the
Southern States as a nation, his correspondence with the authorities at Richmond
was highly considerate, and is very interesting.

The belligerency of the Southern States was recognized by Queen Victoria May
13, 1861; Emperor Napoleon, of France, did the same on June 10 of that year; the
King of the Netherlands, June 16; Queen Isabella, of Spain, June 17; and the
Emperor of Brazil, August 1. On October 12, 1861, Pope Pius IX. wrote to the
archbishops of New York and New Orleans, making an appeal to their "apostolic
zeal and their episcopal solicitude for the happiness and welfare of their
respective people, exhorting them to make efforts in his (the pope's name, as
well as in theirs, for the restoration of peace, the termination of the
disastrous civil war then raging in America, and the reestablishment of concord
and charitable love throughout the whole country." This letter was of a purely
ecclesiastical character, and had designedly no bearing on politics. At the date
on which it was written, New Orleans had been captured and Gen. Butler had
proclaimed martial law there. The prelates to whom the Pope addressed these
letters were Archbishop Hughes, of New York and Archbishop Odin, of New Orleans,
both of whom complied with his request and ordered prayers for peace.

Mr. Curtis quotes extensively from Dr. Jose Ignacio Rodriguez, a most learned
diplomatist and a recognized authority on diplomatic history. The latter
considers that "the attitude of the two prelates, especially of Archbishop
Hughes, who was a personal friend of Mr. Seward, in favor of the preservation of
the Union, is a matter of historical and diplomatic record." Archbishop Hughes,
in writing on the subject, stated: "If a division of the country should ever
take place, the Catholics will have had no voluntary part in bringing about such
a calamity." He aided the government substantially when a call was made on the
State of New York for militia to sustain the laws; the Sixty-Ninth Regiment was
mainly composed of Catholics, and Meagher's Irish Brigade and Cocoran's Legion
were subsequently raised. He was also sent to Europe on a diplomatic mission.
After the Trent affair, November, 1861, there seemed probability that the
European powers would recognize the Confederate States, and at the request of
Mr. Seward and Mr. Lincoln, Archbishop Hughes went to Europe to use his
influence for the good of the United States. He sailed late in 1861, and
returned to America in August, 1862. While there he had a satisfactory interview
with Napoleon III., and did successful work in Rome. Letters received from Pius
IX. shortly after his return show the effects of the prelate's influence. The
contents of those letters were made known to Jefferson Davis sometime
afterwards, and he opened correspondence with the Pope, to whom he wrote as
follows:

To His Holiness, Pope Pius IX., Most Venerable Head of the Holy See and
Sovereign Pontiff of the Holy Roman Catholic Apostolic Church:

The letters addressed by your holiness to the venerable heads of the catholic
clergy of New Orleans and New York have been communicated to me, and I have read
with emotion the terms in which your holiness has been pleased to express the
profound sorrow which the carnage, ruin, and devastation of the present war,
waged by the government of the United States against the States and the people
which have elected me to be their President, have produced in your holiness. I
refer to those letters by which your holiness directed the prelates above
alluded to and their clergy to exhort the people and the authorities to exercise
charity and show love for peace.

I deeply appreciate the Christian charity and sympathy which inspired your
holiness when making such an earnest appeal to the venerable clergy of the
Catholic Church to work for the reestablishment of peace and concord. It is for
this reason that I consider myself bound by duty to assure your holiness,
personally in my own name, and in the name of the people of the Confederate
States, that we have been very deeply moved in our hearts by the feelings of
love and Christian charity which have guided your holiness on this occasion, and
to state furthermore that these people, though threatened with cruel oppression
and horrible carnage, even in their own individual homes, wish, nevertheless,
and so they have always wished with fervor, to see the end of this impious war;
that in our prayers to the Heavenly Father we have expressed the same feelings
with which your holiness is animated, that we have no ill will toward our
enemies; that we do not covet any possession of theirs; that we struggle against
them only to cause them to cease to devastate our country and shed the blood of
our people, and that our only desire is to be allowed to live in peace under our
institutions and laws which protect everybody, not only in the enjoyment of all
temporal rights, but also in the free exercise of religion.

I pray your holiness to accept from myself and from the people of the
Confederate States our sincere thanks for your holiness' efforts in favor of
peace. May the Lord prolong the days of your holiness, and keep your holiness in
his holy guard!

JEFFERSON DAVIS Pres. of Confed. States, etc.

To this letter Pope Pius IX. replied December 8 1863, as follows:

Illustrous and Honorable President, Greeting: We have just received, with all
proper benevolence, the persons sent by you to deliver to us your letter of the
23rd of September ultimo. We have learned with pleasure through the said persons
and through your letter what was the nature of the feelings of joy and gratitude
which were excited in you, illustrious and honorable President, when given
information about the letters written by us to our venerable brothers, John,
Archbishop of New York, and John, Archbishop of New Orleans, on the 18th of
October of the preceding year, wherein we made an earnest appeal to their
compassionate feelings and episcopal solicitude, and exhorted them to endeavor,
with fervent zeal and in our name, to induce the people of your country to put
an end to the disastrous civil war which is raging there, so as to secure for
your people the benefits of peace and concord and charitable love for each
other.

It has been particularly gratifying to us to be informed that you and your
people are animated by the same desires of peace and concord which we in the
letters above referred to inculcated in the venerable brothers of ours to whom
they were addressed. May God be willing to grant that the other people of
America, and of the authorities who are at their head, seriously considering
what a grave thing civil war is and how much misfortune and wrong it carries
with it, should listen to the inspirations of a calmer spirit, and resolutely
adopt a policy of peace!

As to us, we shall never cease to address the most fervent prayers to
Almighty God, requesting him to inspire in the whole people a spirit of peace
and charity and to free them from the great evils which now afflict them. We
pray at the same time to merciful God to bestow upon you the light of his grace,
and cause you to be attached to us by a perfect union.

Given at St. Peter, Rome, December 1. 1861. the eighteenth of our
pontificate.

When our great chieftain, after the close of the great "War between the
States," turned his back upon offers of pecuniary assistance and positions with
large salaries and bright promise of rich emoluments, and went to preside over
Washington College, at Lexington, Va., in order, as he expressed it, to "teach
young men to do their duty in life," he built with the first money he could
secure for the purpose a commodious, neat, and substantial chapel. In the
basement of this chapel was the college library, the office of his secretary,
and Gen. Lee's own office. This latter was neatly but not extravagantly
furnished with desks, bookshelves, chairs, and especially a large round table at
which the President sat in an armchair, and on which he wrote, with letters,
pamphlets, stationery, etc., conveniently arranged and always kept in that neat
order which so eminently characterized the man.

Here he received members of the faculty, students, or other visitors with the
cordial, ease and grace which made a visit to the office so pleasant.

On Wednesday, September 28, 1870, President Lee was at his post of duty, and
after attending morning chapel service, as was his wont every day, he went into
his office and was busy all the morning with his correspondence, etc. At 3
o'clock he went to his home for dinner, leaving a half-finished letter on his
table. At 4 o'clock he presided over an important meeting of the vestry of his
Church Grace Episcopal Church from which he did not return home until 7 o'clock.
finding the family waiting tea for him. He started to ask a blessing, when he
was smitten with the fatal disease from which he died soon after 9 o'clock on
the morning of October 12.

His office has been kept ever since just as he left it. The half-finished
letter, the inkstand, pens, letter heads, pamphlets. packages of letters,
college reports, etc., all remind one of the great President who on that day
left his busy workshop to enter so soon upon his glorious rest.

The visitor to this Mecca of our Southland-the tomb of Lee and the grave of
Stonewall Jackson, "Lexington, in the Valley of Virginia"-will be sure to enter
this beautiful chapel and look with interest on the pew the lamented President
always occupied. Then he will gaze long and with intense gratification on the
pure white marble just in the rear of the college platform in which the genius
of Edward Valentine has produced one of the most superb works of art on this
continent and given us a veritable "Marse Robert asleep."

He goes below and gazes with solemn awe on the vault in which sleep the ashes
of America's greatest soldier, the world's model man; and then he turns into the
office where there are such precious mementos, such hallowed memories of the
greatest college President which this country ever produced.

May the office be ever preserved just as he left it, and future generations
of students draw inspiration from the precious memories which cluster there!

A typical mountaineer-such was Champ Ferguson. The times in which he lived
called forth physical energy, egged on by passion. The acts of his adversaries
prompted his motives, and raging war made his career in the strife of 1861-65 an
epitome of blood.

Champ was at his home, a citizen, when the tocsin was sounded, and stayed
there until his own precincts were invaded. A rabid fire eater-passed his house
with a troop of Blues. Champ Ferguson's little three-year old child came into
the porch waving a Confederate flag. One of the men in blue leveled his gun and
killed the child. O anguish! how that father's heart bled. His spirit welled up
like the indomitable will of the primitive Norseman. In a moment of frenzy he
said that the death of his baby would cost the "bluecoats" a hundred lives. And
it did. One hundred and twenty is believed to be the number he put to death.

He took to the woods, and for four years his war upon them was unrelenting
and vengeance was never appeased. It increased with the raging torrent as his
family and friends were much vilified and abused. In the Cumberland Mountains
clans formed and terrorized the section by petty warfare until the caldron of
fear and apprehension invaded every home. It grew with the years, and Champ
became the terror of the Northern side, while Huddleston and Tinker Dave Beatty
were that to the Southerners. The acts of the latter, because they belonged to
the victorious side, are buried in the tomb, and the government perhaps honors
their memory; but the acts of Champ Ferguson, because of the misfortunes of war,
are bruited as the most terrible in history.

If the sea could give up its dead, and the secrets of men be made known,
Champ Ferguson's actions as bushwhacker, in comparison, would excite only a
passive and not an active interest. Champ was a mountaineer; rude and untrained
in the refinements of moral life, he had entertained that strict idea of right
that belongs to the mountain character. His nature had instilled into him the
strongest incentive of wreaking vengeance for a wrong. His method was
indiscreet, his warfare contemptible; but, in palliation, how was it compared to
the open murder of starving out our women and children, burning our houses, and
pillaging our homes? Champ Ferguson was well to do in this world's goods when
the war began. Had he been let alone, a career of good citizenship would have
been his portion. Had he lived in the days of the Scottish chiefs, the clans
would no doubt have crowned his efforts; but now, since his flag has fallen,
history marks his career as more awful than that of John A. Murrell, and caps it
with a hangman's noose. The times in which he acted must be considered! the
provocation, the surroundings, and then let history record Champ's actions.

In his zeal for the South to win he became hardened; and the more steeped in
blood the more his recklessness increased until irritability occasioned by
treatment of his home folk drove him to maniacal desperation.

In encountering these mountain bushwhackers it became the armies of both
sides to help them when called upon to wage the war of extermination. A comrade
has given me an account of the killing of Huddleston, the Federal hushwhacker,
whose company was afterwards commanded by Tinker Dave Beatty. I mention it to
show the madness of these mountaineers toward each other. This soldier friend
says: "My recollection is that we traveled around Lebanon, Ky., on the night of
December 25, 1862, and the next day we went to Columbia, Ky., and it was then
that Capt. Ferguson went to Gen. Morgan and asked for two companies to scout
with him that night, having heard that they were going to bushwhack Morgan's
rear the next day. I did not know that Capt. Ferguson was with us until we had
traveled several hours and we went into a house where they were having a
Christmas dance. This was a short distance from Capt. Huddleston's house. When
he reached it he was upstairs shooting at us. The house was a new log one and
not completed. It had no floor upstairs, but a few plank on the joists. I
thought that it was an outhouse where no one was living, and that he had gone
there for protection. One of-my companions got Capt. Huddleston's horse after
they had run him to the house from a thicket near by. The animal was a splendid
bay mare and could run very fast. While Huddleston was shooting out of the
window upstairs, and we were responding, some one ordered the house burned; but
I was close behind a small meat house, and told him to come down-that we would
give him quarter. He replied that he was true blue himself and would not come
down. Then the house was set on fire, and some one in it put it out with water.
About this time Capt. Huddleston was shot, and fell between the joists
downstairs. He was brought out of the house, and Capt. Ferguson shot him
afterwards. At the time Huddleston was shot some one in the house said: 'You
killed him.' There was but one other man in the house, and he claimed to be
sick. Ferguson killed him. We then went about three or four miles farther to a
house, where two bitter enemies of Ferguson were in bed in a room by themselves.
Capt. Ferguson went in advance to this house and into the room, pulled his dirk
out of his boot leg and felt in bed with them and commenced cutting them. He
killed one in bed and shot one as he went out the door, and our company captured
the third man after he came out of the house. One of my companions was guarding
the prisoner, when some one told him that he would guard him, and took him off.
In a few minutes Capt Ferguson came up and asked where the prisoner was, and
said that he would have the man shot who turned him loose. This seemed to
frighten the guard, and he asked me what to do and said that he thought Capt.
Ferguson was the man who took the prisoner from him. I told him I had no doubt
of it, and that I thought he had killed him and was then talking for effect. We
then went to Creelsboro, on the Cumberland River, reaching there about daylight
after the hardest, coldest night of our lives, and joined the command near
Burkesville."

In the "History of Morgan's Cavalry" Gen. Duke says: "The great opponent of
Champ Ferguson in the bushwhacking business was Tinker Dave Beatty. The
patriarchal old man lived in a cove surrounded by high hills. at the back of
which was a narrow path leading to the mountains. Surrounded by his clan, he led
a pastoral life which must have been fascinating, for many who entered into the
cove never came away again. The relentless ferocity of all that section made
that of Bluebeard and the Welch giants in comparison sink into insignificance.
Sometimes Champ Ferguson, with his band, would enter the cove, carry off old
Dave's stock, and drive him to his retreat in the mountains, to which no man
ever followed him. Then, when he was strong enough, he would lead his henchmen
against Champ and slay all who did not escape. He did not confine his hostility
to Capt. Ferguson. There were not related of Beatty so many stories illustrative
of his personal courage as of Ferguson. I heard of the latter, on one occasion,
having gone into a room where two of his bitter enemies lay before the fire,
both strong men and armed, and throwing himself upon therm he killed both, after
a hard struggle, with a knife. Beatty possessed a cunning and subtlety which
Ferguson, in a great manner, lacked. Both of the men were known to have spared
life on some rare occasions. Champ caused a Union man to be released, saying
that he did not believe him to be a bushwhacker. Subsequently, after a fit of
silence, Ferguson said: 'I have a good notion to go back and hunt that man. I am
afraid I have done wrong, for he is the very best shot in this part of the
country; and if he does turn bushwhacker, he will kill a man at every shot.'"

Comrade A. L. Scott, Eighth Alabama Regiment, Wilcox's Brigade, Army of
Northern Virginia, is asking about his old comrade, Tom Hollman. On July 3,
1863, Wilcox's old brigade supported Pickett's Division in the Gettysburg charge
and participated in the fight. I belonged I to Company G of the Eleventh
Alabama, Wilcox's Brigade. In falling back, early in July, 1863, I came across a
Capt. or Lieut. Scott, of the Ninth Alabama, who was badly wounded. Shot and
shell were fallingg around us thick and fast, and he called me to assist him. I
first thought he was a Federal, so devoted my attention to other wounded
Confederates. The officer still pleaded with me to stop and help him, saying he
belonged to the Ninth Alabama. I gave him water and bandaged his wounds, and he
suffered intensely, begging me to cut his leg off with my pocket knife. As soon
as I got to the line I sent some of his men to him, and he was immediately
removed from the field. Capt. or Lieut. Scott will doubtless remember this
incident, and myself in connection with it.

I went into the army very young, and served to the end. The badge of honor
was bestowed on me at the battle of the Wilderness, and I remember the morning
well. Wilcox's Brigade was at the head of the division, had marched early and
late, and breakfasted by the light of the morning stars. I think it was
Featherstone's Mississippi Brigade that had the day before held Gen. Grant in
check until Longstreet could get up, but in doing this had given up about two
miles of the woods on the plank road a little faster than Gen. Lee liked. Gen.
Grant, the new commander of the Army of the Potomac, was "pushing the Rebels on
to Richmond" with the belief that he could not be stopped. Gen. Grant had about
120,000 men and Gen. Lee about 55,000. Perhaps the latter was a little uneasy.
He was sitting on his horse in the road when the Eleventh Alabama passed, and
when Gen. Longstreet rode up to him he said: "Something must be done or the day
is lost." Wilcox's Brigade was ordered to the left of the plank road, while
Hood's Texas Brigade formed on the right. Both moved forward over the remains of
the troops who had borne the brunt of the battle the previous day. Our men took
position on the crest of a little ridge in the thick woods, and the
sharpshooters were thrown out to meet the victorious enemy. We knew the
bluecoats were coming, and every man did his duty bravely. Soon after we were in
line we heard the Federals giving the order to forward. Our sharpshooters
checked the advance of the enemy, but they were later compelled to fall back to
the line. William Berry, a tall vidette, stood up in the rear and fired until
shot dead; and my uncle, Joe Shuttlesworth, also stood in the rear and shot over
our heads until mortally wounded. As the Yankees advanced our men poured volley
after volley into their lines before their hitherto victorious progress could be
stayed. Finally they faltered and began to give way; then the yell and charge.
We drove them back three miles and recovered all the ground lost the day before.

Next morning Gen. Jenkins, of South Carolina, was killed, and Gen. Longstreet
wounded; and but for these unfortunate incidents, which stopped the advance for
several hours, I have always believed that Gen. Grant would have met the fate of
his predecessors. The delay gave them time to reform the lines and bring up
their reserves. On that morning Gen. Woodsworth, of the Federals, was killed,
and we got his sword, a very handsome one.

The Wilcox Brigade made a fine record at Frazier's Farm, where they captured
sixteen of the finest guns in the Federal army. The loss in officers and men was
severe and the fighting terrific, many of our most valuable soldiers being
killed or wounded.

Joe Shuttleworth, known in the regiment as "Joe Shuck," was a young
sharpshooter, weighing about one hundred pounds, with sharp features. He stood
up bravely in the rear of his company until he was mortally wounded. He was
borne from the field to the hospital. I got permission to see him late in the
afternoon, and found him in a dying condition, though he talked cheerfully and
told me this story, which was verified by one of the litter bearers: As the
ambulance corps was taking him from the battlefield one of the bearers of the
litter was wounded and fell, letting his suffering burden fall to the ground.
Sitting on his war horse, Traveler, Gen. Lee witnessed the incident with
manifest tenderness and sympathy. Lifting his hat, Joe said: "Don't be uneasy.
That is the Eleventh Alabama, Wilcox's Brigade, and they are filling the road
with dead Yankees." Gen. Lee answered: "I know they are, my brave boy." Just
then the Rebel yell burst forth, and Joe said: "I told you so." He died in the
hospital that night.

An event well worthy of elaborate mention is that of the return of the battle
flag of Terry's Texas Rangers, Eighth Texas Cavalry. Comrades H. W. Graber,
George B. Littlefield, S. B. Christian, W. D. Cleveland, and R. Y. King, a
committee from the Rangers, and J. J. Weiler, now of Texas, petitioned for its
return, setting forth that it was lost by their command during an engagement
near Coosaville, Ala., October I3, 1864, and found by J. J. Weiler, of the
Seventeenth Indiana Regiment, and turned over to the State of Indiana. Gov.
James A. Mount, of Indiana, attended by a committee of Union veterans, went to
Dallas, where he was met by Gov. Sayers and Confederate associations of Texas.
The ceremonies attending the return of this flag were interesting and in every
way creditable.

The return of this flag was all the more cordial because of the return, a few
years ago, of the flag of the Fifty-Seventh Indiana Regiment, captured by
Corporal W. M. Crooks, of Texas, in the glare of carnage at Franklin, November
30, 1864. Comrade Crooks was greatly honored by the men of that regiment at its
formal return, an account of which appeared in the VETERAN for July, 1897.

It is a coincidence that at this sitting a letter comes from a prominent
member of the Woman's Relief Corps of Indiana, who writes of having spoken to a
friend, prominent in that State, about the use of the word "rebel" in describing
the flags in their State capitol. He replied to her that it was done many years
ago, that it ought not to be so, and that he would see to having it changed. All
these things show the virtue of persistence in righting things that will be of
increasing importance as the decades pass.

In his address Gov. Mount said: "We come to-day to return to its original
owners a flag which was once borne bravely in bloody conflict. We come bearing
the flowers of love and of peace, returning this flag that it may be a testimony
and a symbol of a reunited people, reunited in fact, reunited in heart, in
sympathy, and in brotherly love."

To Gens. Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson he paid a splendid tribute,
feeling and tender and manly.

Gov. Mount read a poem by Frank L. Stanton. of Atlanta:

But now I'm in the Union. I see there, overhead,

The flag our fathers fought for; her rippling rills of red

All glorious and victorious; the splendor of her stars---

And I say: "The blood of heroes dyed all her crimson bars."

I'm for that flag forever, 'gainst foes on sea and shore.

Who shames her? Who defames her? Give me my gun once more.

We'll answer where they need us-when the war fires light the night;

There's a Lee still left to lead us to the glory of the fight.

We're one in heart forever---we're one in heart and hand;

The flag's a challenge to the sea, a garland on the land;

We're united-one great country; freedom's the watchword still;

There's a Lee that's left to lead us---let the storm break where it will.

"Rejoicing in this union that will henceforth be defended by the brave Texans
as valiantly as by Indianians, clothed with authority from the Legislature,
which is expressive of the voice of the people, it becomes my pleasant duty to
return to your excellency this battle flag, so gallantly carried in war by
Terry's Texas Rangers, braver men than whom never drew sword in battle. Take
this flag, and may it henceforth be an emblem of unity and good will between the
great States of Indiana and Texas and a seal ot their fidelity to the national
Union."

After music, Gen. Cabell introduced Gov. Sayers, who said:

"Cold indeed would be the heart that could not be warmed by such a scene as
this. A short time ago the President announced that the time had come when it
was the duty of the nation to care for the graves of the dead heroes of the
South as well as for those of the North. From Maine to California and from
far-away Washington to the remote borders of Southwest Texas-all over this
country there went up a shout of approval from the people as with one voice.
From the mountain top end 'from the valleys came words of commendation and
indorsement.

"You, my ex-Confederate comrades, have listened to the words of eulogy by
Gov. Mount of your gallantry and devotion, and on this point let me bear
testimony. For fourteen years I represented this people, in part, in Congress,
and while during that time in the debates and speeches many bitter and
acrimonious things have been said, I never, during all those years. however
fierce passion might burn, heard fall from the lips of a Northern soldier one
word, one syllable in disparagement to the Southern soldier.

"I will tell you what is going, to happen. This is but the forerunner of
other scenes like this. The day is not far distant when all over this country
the survivors of the war will meet and celebrate their victories together. The
war cost us much. Everything worth having costs labor, anxiety, and oftentimes
blood and death. The government, North, East, and West, strong in resources, met
the chivalry of the South. Four years of weary, bloody strife ensued, the most
gigantic contest of the ages, and finally Appomattox came and Lee surrendered,
the great, heroic, magnanimous Grant refusing to take his sword. And then Gen.
Grant issued his order that rations be distributed among Lee's starving
followers, and that the men take their horses home with them for use on the
farms. In what land, under what sky, after four years of death and desolation,
could you witness such a scene as this, save in our country? Judge Reagan, the
last living member of President Davis's Cabinet, sits on this stage to-day.
Ex-Confederates have sat in the House and in the Senate of the Congress, have
been members of the council chamber of the President and ambassadors to
represent the republic at the courts of foreign nations. In no country, with no
people under the sun, could such a thing as this have taken place, save in our
country.

"I only arose to be the organ for the transmission of this flag to these
brave men, but my feelings would not permit silence.

"Gov. Mount and staff, when you go home you will take with you the best
wishes, the earnest prayers, and the heartiest good will of all this people."

The band played the "Star-Spangled Banner," the entire audience standing and
cheering the glorious old anthem. Gen. H. W. Graber then introduced Hon. James
F. Miller, of Gonzales, President of the Terry Rangers' Association, who, on the
part of the Rangers, received the flag.

I would add, in regard to this last flag of my regiment, that it was
presented to us by Miss Flora McIver and her sister, and was made out of a silk
dress of ante - bellum days. John McIver brought the flag to us when we were
returning from the last great raid made by Gen. Joseph Wheeler in Tennessee in
the fall of 1864. The Rangers saw this flag for the first time when preparing to
recross the Tennessee River near Florence, Ala. We were charmed with its beauty,
and vowed to defend it, remembering the noble ladies who gave it.

We only had the flag about a month, when it was lost in passing through the
woods on the day of the engagement with Gen. Wilder's Cavalry, October 22, 1864.
When lost the flag was wrapped in an oilcloth case, which slipped off the
flagstaff unknown to our standard bearer, Commandant Jones.

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